


"Your legs they swung for hours in semi-spires"

by lazyroughdrafts



Series: Beast in the Headlights [1]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Shot, it's a romance of sorts, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyroughdrafts/pseuds/lazyroughdrafts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie finds her just in time but not nearly enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Your legs they swung for hours in semi-spires"

**Author's Note:**

> "I knew you were waiting to die the whole time..."
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Little Red Lung's lyrics, Fangs
> 
> Do not own anything of Elementary or its characters.

Moriarty does find her before it is too late. But it is too late for her, for Jamie.

 

She finds Joan in the museum annex where they have left her hanging, strung from her wrists in the middle of the marble-cased vaulted arch, gold leaf catching lights and flickering. They have staged it just for her.

_Here, have your art._

The Russians certainly have an eye for beauty. And Joan hanging in the middle of the room, with the light streaming in just so, is an art installation both beautiful and grotesque.

So this is what too much blood looks like.

Moriarty finally knows that too.

Fine little knicks along her brachial and femoral arteries, it is a hideous measure of respect to both of them. It falls just so, it pools just so.  


For the second time in her life, Jamie wants to scream.

..........

_Three months prior._

 

"I could kill you." Jamie smiles sweetly invading Watson's space.

"You could." It is all very matter-of-fact.

Except for their proximity to each other. Jamie advancing forward. Joan not retreating.

 

"You are not afraid." She muses. Moriarty is intrigued, quietly appraising her.

 

Joan crosses her arms across her chest. Creating a barrier as the air between them steadily diminishes. Falls victim to whatever magnetic force is at play. They are far too close to one another now making it so that she has to look up into those blue eyes. Eyes that are trying very hard to see.

 

Joan shrugs almost too nonchalantly for her liking. "You could kill me and then I'd be dead." It is by no means a satisfactory explanation to the spectacular show of fearlessness on display. Reducing things in terms of cause and effect is not satisfactory in the slightest. Jamie raises a brow as she realises that this is no show of bravado. She places a hand on Joan's forearm gently tugging it down. They are perhaps both surprised at the gentleness of this assault on Watson's personal space.

 

Joan almost sighs as she allows her arms to unfold and fall to her side. Except Jamie keeps her fingers neatly circled firmly around her right wrist. "It wouldn't be the first time." Joan who does not owe her anything is offering her something. But Jamie does not understand. The woman before her has faced many dangers, has been shot at countless times. So Jamie thinks she understands.

"I don't think I need remind you my dearest Watson, that I am far more effective. Should I choose to be." It should be menacing this threat. It should be a threat. But warm fingers that have been gripping her wrist have fallen to grip her hand instead. It should be a threat but there is a peculiar softness she has not heard before when she says my dearest.

And it is no mocking softness. Jamie has hooked their index fingers together and Joan has not pulled away.

She looks down from those blue eyes, not in shame but almost clinically observing their linked hands. She speaks down into their joined hands. "Maybe. It woudn't be the first time I'd have died. But maybe you could."

She looks up. Under the threat posed by being this physically close. Close enough that breath falls shallow and blood courses more wildly. She only comprehends her double meaning.

But Jamie is made to understand, to see. That Watson is acquainted well with death, very intimately acquainted. More so than Jamie. More so than even Moriarty.

 

Because the first time, Joan drowned when she was eight in a neighbor's pool. A boy who kept her under eight minutes. She was dead for twelve. The second time is Afghanistan. Thirty-one minutes. The third time in Iraq; twenty-two. They are bald statements of fact. Facts that weren't in her file. No evidence of her time as a surgeon working black-ops. No evidence in her medical files of her near miraculous ability to be resuscitated without damage.

 

It is a straightforward calculation. One hour and five minutes.

Moriarty flinches and pulls away. There is a twitch and a tremble she disguises by fisting her palm into her side.

 

"Maybe you could kill me dead." Joan finishes softly.

 

Moriarty's eyes are veiled with ice again. This isn't the puzzle she wants to solve. This isn't something she wants to understand.

 

But Jamie. Jamie wants to scream.

..........

 

She wakes up days later. Stitched up, bandaged and aching despite the comfort of a too-luxurious bed. She blinks slowly, dazed by her surroundings. The understated elegance that is somebody else's bedroom. 

Joan aches too much to be able to move too fast. She slowly slides up and rests her throbbing head against the headboard. Not quite taking everything in. She does notice the evidence of a dip and mussed up sheets next to hers. She leans back to close her eyes, throat exposed.

 

When she opens them again Jamie is staring at her wrapped in a taupe-coloured bath sheet. Blond curls still damp and dripping down her neck and trickling down her sternum. And Joan who has only just then come round to possess her faculties again fully, thinks Jamie looks remarkably lost for someone standing in their own bedroom.

 

And then a bandaged arm pats the empty space next to her and Jamie almost moves too readily to occupy it. Resting her own head back before turning slightly, silently working through calculations in her head before she is stopped by a gentle, "Thank you."

 

Jamie blinks and then closes her eyes, "You shouldn't be thanking me. I nearly got you killed."

 

She is too bruised, too battered to move with any stealth. Jamie feels Joan almost laboriously inching closer. Feels the turn of the head and the breath on her cheek and the fleeting pressure of lips on that cheek before the voice insists, "Thank you."

 

Jamie keeps her eyes closed as a dry cheek finds its way to rest on her bare wet shoulder. As straight dark hair tickles against her arm. As a carefully bandaged arm reaches for hers, fingers moving deftly to unclench the balled up fist in her lap. She keeps her eyes shut as a strangled sob nearly escapes her.

..........

 

They walk past it.

 

Jamie quickens her pace nearly dragging Watson by the hand as she does so.

 

"I'm hungry."

 

Is her excuse as they clear the museum and her almost frantic pace slows down again. Joan looks back over her shoulder before carefully perusing Jamie's now impassive face. "Famished in fact."

Joan doesn't say anything for a beat but leans in closer to her as they continue. "I could go for some sushi."  


She nods. "Sushi it is."

 

..........

 

They are sitting on a park bench after lunch.

Joan is nestled into her side, arm wrapped around her as Jamie's fingers lazily flick across her upper arm.

 

Sat like that, they look like any other couple. Like any other happy couple. Jamie says something obnoxious. Joan rolls her eyes but smiles into the kiss planted on her lips before she can retort. The kiss deepens for a moment before they rest their foreheads together. They look like how couples do when they are happily in love. 

Not like Joan has died for one hour and eleven minutes. 

Not like Jamie knows exactly what too much blood looks like.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be part of a series. Maybe.


End file.
